CHAPTER XVIII
CAPTAIN THORNE JUSTIFIES HIMSELF
After the two women had left him, Wilfred stood motionless for a moment,and then sat wearily down to rest. Scarcely had he done so when he heardshouts far outside in the street, the heavy trampling of feet, cries,directions, orders. He rose and walked over to the window. The crieswere growing louder and the footsteps more distinct. Men wereapproaching the house rapidly, he could tell that they were running.What could they be? What was toward? A suspicion flashed into his mind.It had hardly found lodgment there when Thorne sprang upon the porch,leaped across it, and burst through the other front window into the longroom. A pedestal with a bust of Washington on it was standing betweenthe windows. As Thorne sprang back from the window, he knocked againstit. It fell to the floor with a tremendous crash.
He stood staring a moment toward the window, listening while the noiseof the running feet died away in the distance. It seemed that he haddistanced his pursuers or eluded them for the time being. It could onlybe for a moment, however; he had other things to think of. Well, thatmoment would be enough; it was all he required. He turned to go down theroom, only to find himself confronted by the boy.
It is hard to say which was the more surprised of the two--Thorne atseeing Wilfred, or Wilfred at Thorne's appearance. The latter's face waspale, his breath was coming rapidly, he was bareheaded. His brow wascovered with sweat, and he had the hunted, desperate look of a man atthe very end of his resources. Neither at first said anything to theother. It was Thorne who first recovered himself. He sought to pass bythe boy, but Wilfred seized him.
"Halt!" he cried; "you are under arrest."
"Wait a moment!" gasped out Thorne; "and I will go with you."
As he spoke he shook himself loose from the weak grasp of the woundedyoung man, and started down the room.
"Halt, I say!" cried Wilfred. "You are my prisoner."
"All right, all right," said Thorne quietly; "your prisoner, anythingyou like. Here,"--he drew his revolver from his pocket and pushed itinto the boy's hand; "take this, shoot the life out of me, if you wish;but give me a chance to see my brother first."
"Your brother?"
"Yes. He was shot here to-night. I want one look at his face; that'sall."
"Where is he?"
"Maybe they put him in the room across the hall yonder."
"What would he be doing there?" asked Wilfred, not yet apprehending thesituation from Thorne's remarks.
"Nothing," said the other bitterly; "I guess he is dead."
"Wait," said Wilfred. He stepped across the hall, keeping Thorne coveredwith his revolver. "Don't move; I will see." He threw open the door,glanced in, and then came back. "It's a lie!" he said.
"What!" exclaimed Thorne.
"There is no one in there. It is just one of your tricks. Call theguard!" He shouted toward the hall, and then toward the window."Sergeant of the Guard! Captain Thorne is here, in this house."
He stepped out on the porch and shouted again with astonishing power forone so painfully wounded as he. Then the boy felt a faintness come overhim. He sank down on a seat on the porch and leaned his head against thehouse, and sought to recover his strength, fighting a desperate battle;fearful lest Thorne should escape while he was thus helpless.
It was Edith Varney who first replied to his frantic summons by hurryinginto the room. She was as much surprised to see Thorne as he was to seeher. Her heart leaped in her bosom at the sight of him, and she staredat him as at a wraith or a vision.
"You wouldn't tell me an untruth, would you?" said Thorne, coming closerto her. "He was shot in this room an hour ago, my brother Henry. I'dlike to take one look at his dead face before they send me the same way.Where is he? Can't you tell me that much, Miss Varney? Is he in thehouse?"
Edith looked at his face, shook her head a little, and moved away fromhim toward the table. Thorne threw up his hands in a gesture of despair,and turned toward the window. As he did so, Wilfred, having recoveredfrom his faintness a little, called out again:
"The guard! The escaped prisoner, Captain Thorne!"
This time his frantic outcry was answered. At last they were closing inupon the wretched man. He turned from the window and faced the girl,scarcely less wretched than he, and laughed shortly.
"They are on the scent, you see," he said; "they'll get me in a minute;and when they do, it won't take them long to finish me off. And asthat'll be the last of me, Miss Varney, maybe you'll listen to onething. We can't all die a soldier's death, in the roar and glory ofbattle, our friends about us, under the flag we love. No, not all! Someof us have orders for another kind of work, dare-devil, desperate work,the hazardous schemes of the Secret Service. We fight our battles alone,no comrades to cheer us on, ten thousand to one against us, death atevery turn. If we win, we escape with our lives; if we lose, we aredragged out and butchered like dogs. No soldier's grave, not even atrench with the rest of the boys--alone, despised, forgotten! These weremy orders, Miss Varney; this is the death I die to-night, and I don'twant you to think for one moment that I am ashamed of it; no, not forone moment."
The sound of heavy feet drew nearer. Wilfred called again, while the twoin the room confronted each other, the man erect, and the woman, too. Astrange pain was in her heart. At least here was a man, but before shecould say a word in answer to his impassioned defence, the room filledwith soldiers.
"There's your man, Sergeant," said Wilfred; "I hand him over to you."
"You are my prisoner," said the Sergeant.
His command was reinforced by a number of others, including CorporalMatson and his squad, and some of the men of the Provost Guard, who hadbeen chasing Thorne through the streets. At this juncture, Arrelsford,panting and breathless, also joined the company in the drawing-room. Hecame in rapidly, thrusting aside those in his way.
"Where is he?" he cried. "Ah!" he exclaimed triumphantly, as his eyefell upon Thorne, standing quietly, surrounded by the soldiers. "We'vegot him, have we?"
"Young Mr. Varney, here, took him, sir," said the Sergeant.
"So," returned Arrelsford to his prisoner, "run down at last. Now, youwill find out what it costs to play your little game with our GovernmentTelegraph lines."
But Thorne did not turn his head, although Arrelsford spoke almost inhis ear. He looked straight at Edith Varney, and she returned hisglance.
"Don't waste any time, Sergeant," said Arrelsford furiously. "Take himdown the street and shoot him full of lead. Out with him."
"Very well, sir," said the Sergeant.
But Wilfred interposed. He came forward, Thorne's revolver still in hishand.
"No," he said decisively; "whatever he is, whatever he has done, he hasthe right to a trial."
"The head of the Secret Service Department said to me if I found him, toshoot him at sight," snarled Arrelsford.
"I don't care what General Tarleton said. I captured this man; he's inthis house, and he is not going out unless he is treated fairly."
The Sergeant looked uncertainly from Wilfred to Arrelsford. Mrs. Varney,who had entered with the rest of them, and who now stood by herdaughter's side, looked her approval at her son. The mettle of hisdistinguished father was surely in his veins.
"Well done," said the woman softly, but not so softly that those abouther did not hear; "your father would have spoken so."
Arrelsford came to a sudden decision.
"Well, let him have a trial. We'll give him a drumhead court-martial,but it will be the quickest ever held on earth. Stack your muskets here,and organise a court," he said.
"Fall in here," cried the Sergeant, at which the men quickly took theirplaces. "Attention! Stack arms! Two of you take the prisoner. Whereshall we find a vacant room, ma'am?"
"Across the hall," said Mrs. Varney; "where the ladies were sewing thisevening."
"Very good," said the Sergeant. "Left face! Forward, march!"
Arrelsford and Wilfred followed the s
oldiers.
"I am the chief witness," said the former.
"I will see that he gets fair play," remarked the latter, as theymarched out.
"I must go to Howard," said Mrs. Varney; "this excitement is killinghim; I am afraid he will hardly survive the night. Caroline is with himnow."
"Very well, mother," said Edith, going slowly up the now deserted roomand standing in the window, looking out into the night, thinking herstrange, appalling thoughts. They would convict him, shoot him, therewas no hope. What had he said? He was not ashamed of his work. It wasthe highest duty and involved the highest and noblest sacrifice, becauseit made the greatest demand; and they would shoot him like a mad dog.
"Oh, God!" she whispered; "if some bullet would only find my heart aswell."
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